


L'appel Du Vide

by howellesterfics



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M, Phan Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howellesterfics/pseuds/howellesterfics
Summary: In the early morning, with sleep still in his eyes and no caffeine in his system, the knife in Phil’s hand looks like a blessing calling his name.





	L'appel Du Vide

**Author's Note:**

> y'all'st've i truly do not know what im doing wow how edgy tori

Dan isn’t sure it would have happened on any random day, no, he’s convinced his brain was shifted the slightest bit after staying up so late the previous night. He’s convinced that these aren’t his own thoughts, his own impulses and intrusive images flashing through his head, but nonetheless they’re there and pulsating with the craving to be lived out. 

He’s sat languidly in the kitchen, messy hair falling into his eyes and pajama bottoms twisted at his waist from a much too fitful sleep. It’s visible on his face that something is different, there’s more of an edge to the glint in his tired eyes; his normally chapped lips are worse to the point of dried blood at the corner of his mouth. A bluish tint has taken over the delicate skin around his eyes. If a reason had to be placed on the ragged appearance, he would blame none other than his boyfriend. 

Phil is the reason he tossed and turned all night, staring at the ceiling for upwards of an hour and rubbing his sweaty palms against his face as a way to force himself back into reality. They went to bed on bad terms last night, a petty argument leading to distrustful stares and backs turned on each other under the covers. As soon as the lamp went off, Phil was fast asleep and seemingly lacking the amount of turmoil brewing inside of Dan. 

And now Phil is in the kitchen, glasses shoved on his nose and a knife in his hand as he chops up assorted fruits for breakfast. 

The key word here: knife. 

For some ungodly reason, Dan’s eyes are fixated on the utensil, watching how effortlessly the blade slides through the skin of strawberries. It makes his heart rate accelerate in a confusing way. Phil’s knuckles are white with the pressure of chopping up the fruit, his fist gripping the handle tighter than normal. The atmosphere must still be tense for him, too. 

“Sleep well?” Dan asks suddenly, tongue pressed against his front teeth. He watches as Phil’s shoulder blades tense up, the muscles moving fluidly. 

“Sure." 

"That’s good, then. I’m glad your conscience didn’t keep you awake." 

"Should it have?" 

"Fuck you,” Dan groans, pressing his cheek against the tabletop. 

It’s cold to the touch and makes him shiver, so immediately he springs back up in his seat. 

And it’s strange. Part of him wants Phil to be angry, to be unhinged and perhaps even lose himself to the feeling of indifference, of malice. He wants Phil to want to hurt him, whether it be through words or actions or even stony glares that make him weak in the knees. 

“What’s wrong with you lately? Things have been going so good for us and now you’ve been acting like a brat. I’m trying my best to cooperate, here.” Phil turns around then, leaning against the counter top with a look of disappointment showing clearly on his face. 

The masochistic side of Dan is thrilled, and he’s antsy in his chair as he replies. 

“Well try harder. Maybe I’d act better if you gave a flying fuck about me." 

The words are a challenge, a test of maturity. It takes all of three seconds for Phil to lose (or maybe win) the test, swinging his arms wildly. 

"If I gave a fuck? You’re the one turning everything into a fight! It’s like you enjoy it or something!” Dan watches in fascination as the knife, still clutched in Phil’s hand, is carelessly swung around as the man gesticulates. 

It’s not incredibly sharp but it’s still dangerous, and a warm feeling floods Dan’s belly as he has sort of a revelation. He pictures that knife pressed against his skin, enough to pinch it but not break it. He imagines swallowing, Adam’s apple bobbing and causing it to dig deeper. It’s stupid but it’s thrilling and he wants to know what’s it like to have his entire life at the hands of someone else. 

No, not someone else, but Phil. 

He needs more than the visual, so he goes out on a limb and decides to say something ridiculous. 

“I only enjoy it when you’ve bored me out of my fucking mind otherwise. Guess that’s what happens when old age sets in, though,” he remarks. 

A cheeky grin had made its way onto his face before the scene switched entirely. Suddenly Phil had taken a lunge closer and things shifted into slow motion. Phil had obviously forgotten he was holding the knife, because when he advanced forward, an angry intent in his eyes, he definitely wasn’t about to threaten Dan with a weapon. He was just overcome with anger and frustration, noticing a moment too late that he had raised his arm holding the knife and had it rather suggestively aimed in Dan’s direction. He didn’t know he made a mistake until he saw the real panic in Dan’s eyes, all of the smugness wiped away and replaced with the highest level of adrenaline and fear. 

Only then did he think to drop the knife, hearing it clatter pathetically onto the tiled floor. His hands were shaking as he struggled with what to say next, a lump in his throat. 

“I didn’t mean– Dan, I swear,” he tries. 

Dan only looks at him from his lower height in the chair, lips parted in surprise. His heart is racing, thumping wildly in his chest, but he isn’t upset. He looks at Phil almost submissively, almost in a trance. 

“I forgot I was even holding it, I would never hurt you like that.” Phil is still trying to backtrack, frozen in place, until Dan groans softly. 

“Pick it up,” Dan whispers. 

“Why?" 

The hesitation flashing across Phil’s expression makes Dan impatient, and so he finally crouches to pick up the knife and stands up next to his boyfriend. They’re face to face, noses close enough to touch and breath stuttering out amongst the wild nerves between them. Dan reaches up with his free hand and pulls Phil closer, giving him an open-mouthed kiss. It’s lukewarm and tastes of morning breath, but it’s still perfect. It gets heated enough that Phil grabs Dan by the face, forcing their tongues to have closer contact and their breath to mix hotly. The change of pace is enough to make them both dizzy with confusion and lust, unsteady on their feet. 

With all the courage he can muster, Dan pries one of Phil’s hands from his cheek and delicately places the handle of the knife into his open palm. 

"I don’t understand,” Phil says. 

The thud of his pulse is prominent between them, and he cannot seem to grip his hand tight enough to actually hold the weapon properly. 

“It’s not scary when it’s you, and I like the rush. I trust you." 

"Trust me.. to what? Are you asking me to do something to you?" 

Dan licks his lips and tries to think of a way to make himself understood. It’s not conventional, and it’s not sane, but he wants it to happen nonetheless. He gives a tender stroke to the upturned bone structure of Phil’s cheek, tracing over it calmingly. 

"I’m not asking you to chop me into bits or something crazy like that. I’m not asking you to break skin. Just use it on me, make me scared. Dominate me like you always do, just with higher stakes." 

Phil clears his throat, twisting the handle in consideration. The breakfast he had been preparing is now abandoned on the counter with little care, the fruits destined to go nasty and ripe out in the open. 

"Why?" 

"I like the idea of my life in your hands. Is that insane?" 

"Probably." 

"Will you do this for me? Wanna be a good bitch for you,” Dan mumbles the last sentence with cheeks reddened in embarrassment and lust. 

Never in his life did he imagine that he’d be doing this, enjoying this. Phil shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot; debating. The older man doesn’t know what to think of the situation, but in a weird way it was starting to seem more appealing. Here he had complete control over Dan, he could make him beg and plead and see him come undone. 

“This is serious, Dan. You have to stay alert so you can safe word, and you can’t let me push you past your limits. Traffic light system?" 

Dan sobers slightly and nods his head, pressing his body closer to Phil’s before he’s knocked into his submissive role. He feels Phil’s shaky breath landing on his neck and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

"Yeah. I’m green right now." 

"Good. Are you hard?" 

Dan suppresses a grin and raises his eyebrows. 

"Why don’t you find out for yourself?" 

"I’ll take that as a yes,” Phil huffs. 

Gaining confidence, he grabs Dan by the curled hairs of his once ever-so-straightened fringe, causing him to tilt his head back and whine pathetically as the tug of the strands burns his scalp. Phil uses his grip on Dan’s hair to steer him towards the kitchen counter and bend him over on it. Dan’s on his back though, meaning he’s facing towards the ceiling and the awkward angle causes his dick to uncomfortably strain against the band of his pajamas. He wriggles around despite the strong hold Phil has on him, already panting and sweating due to excitement. 

It’s been too long since he’s been this helpless and turned on; suddenly feeling Phil’s hand cupping around his throat is nearly enough to make him bust. 

“Fuck,” Dan chokes out, curling his toes experimentally. His eyes are trained harshly on the ceiling to avoid seeing Phil and cumming in his pants. 

Nothing to him is hotter than someone stronger than him taking control and cutting off his air supply until he’s blue in the face. 

“You’ve always loved this. You’ve always wanted more of it,” Phil says. 

It isn’t a question or even hesitant, it’s a fact. He stops what he’s doing to strip Dan down, the fabric of his shirt getting caught in an earring and causing a pained moan and interrupting the fluidity of the moment. It doesn’t matter though, because then he’s got his mouth on Dan’s nipple and doing things to drive him closer to the edge. He licks one and blows cool air over it, watching as minuscule bumps arise all over Dan’s chest and arms. 

Dragging his pajamas down is unsurprisingly easier, and he doesn’t bother ridding him of his black socks, too preoccupied with the main objective here. 

Phil’s never been in a situation where he’s (presumably) about to have sex and part of the foreplay involves a dangerous kitchen utensil. He’s never even seen porn like this, aware in the back of his mind that it surely exists, that people really get off on this. But when he picks it up again he sees his boyfriend’s eyes go wide and his limbs relax, and he can’t help but to feel his cock stir in his pants. He’d do anything to make Dan happy, in the bedroom or otherwise. 

L'appel du vide; call of the void. 

He remembers Dan telling him about it before after a late night Wikipedia binge, and how invested he had been in its workings. It had something to do with the urge you get to do something life threatening or stupid, like jumping from a building or walking into traffic. Maybe this is similar, he reasons. Maybe Dan’s brain is craving a rush of adrenaline. 

He makes steady eye contact with Dan as he takes the knife and allows the blade to rest against Dan’s clavicle. He drags it almost teasingly across the thin layer of skin and then on up to the man’s shoulder. 

“Color?" 

"Green." 

It’s not really doing anything for Phil but this isn’t about him, he decides. A bout of confidence settles his tense body as he repositions himself so that he’s standing in between Dan’s widespread legs, his hipbones snug against Dan’s crotch. He can distinctly feel how hard Dan has gotten from just a few new sensations. 

Phil takes the opposite side of the knife’s blade that’s dull and couldn’t cut through a watermelon’s rind and he taps it lightly against the hollow part of Dan’s throat. The response is instantaneous and he receives an indelicate whimper as feedback, the boy’s eyes rolling back. 

"You’re so sensitive to this, aren’t you? Does it feel good, bitch?" 

The words seem to come from a darker side of Phil, a more primal instinct taking over that wants him to inflict fear into his lover’s heart. Not only fear, though, he wants to see the longing and lust as well. Phil traces the blade along each of Dan’s ribs, using pressure ranging from feather light touches to enough force to push the skin down and occasionally pinch and tug at it. Dan never answers his question but the way he dangerously twists and squirms says it all. 

With every positive reaction, Phil becomes more daring and provoking. He draws patterns on the fleshy part of Dan’s love handles and stomach, he dips the tip of the knife into Dan’s bellybutton, only to pull it away and replace it with his tongue, which actually makes Dan muffle a whine into his hand. 

"God,” he huffs, lifting his hips into the air. 

“Don’t move so suddenly, keep still." 

Their eyes meet once more as Phil moves forward, pressing all of his body weight into Dan so that he can press him firmly to the counter. The sharp edge of it must burn but there’s no complaints or signs of discomfort. Phil makes it so that his face is mere inches from Dan’s, and with a small grin he kisses him on the mouth. 

"I could hurt you right now. I could make you bleed." 

"You’re all talk." 

"Do you trust me, Daniel?" 

Dan nods timidly in response, but Phil can tell his head is swimming from the friction between their bodies. He gives an experimental roll of his hips and they moan in unison. Of course he does it a few more times, taking advantage of the temporary relief it brings him. Phil wants desperately to shed his clothes, but still having them on while Dan is bare and vulnerable makes him hot and bothered. Quite literally hot, too, as sweat is now clinging to his back and forehead. When he feels the dull sting of fingernails down his spine he knows how close his boyfriend must be, the scratching needy and uncoordinated. 

Without thinking, Phil pulls away and drops down to his knees, pulling on Dan’s hips to make the boy stand straight up again. This position is all too familiar to them, and so it eases some of the last bits of tension stirring inside of Phil. 

"Do you want that? Want me to make you bleed?” He asks softly, meanwhile pressing warm kisses all along the thick, pale thighs before him. 

They tremble the closer he gets to Dan’s crotch, and Phil’s mouth waters at the sight of his cock standing erect and ready. While awaiting an answer from the shaken man, he gives him a hickey just in the crease of his inner thigh, over the pulse point. Dan seems to get distracted by this, gasping and clinging on to a handful of Phil’s hair. 

“Fuck,” he pants, exhaling the word in a state of bliss. 

Phil smacks his thigh impatiently and a white handprint blossoms with the action. 

“Answer me, now." 

"Mm, trust you. Hurt me." 

"Color?" 

"Fuck, Phil, I’m green,” Dan whines. 

His cheeks have gone impossibly ruddy, burning red in the yellowish kitchen lights hanging overhead. Time seems to pause as Phil moves over to grab a dishcloth from the counter, shakily cleaning the blade of the knife the best he can manage. He wasn’t about to continue with sticky fruit residue still on the knife, as that felt unsanitary and unprofessional. 

“Lay down on the floor,” he murmurs. 

He doesn’t have to ask twice, as Dan readily clambers down onto the linoleum, getting as comfortable as possible with his chin tilted toward the ceiling. And truly, Phil didn’t plan for this. He didn’t know it would come so natural to him to think these dark plans up, but seeing Dan’s pale neck stretched out like that made his brain go kind of haywire. 

He crawls over on top of his boyfriend, hands planted on either side of his head and staring down at the bulging arteries inches deep in his skin, teasing and taunting. He wants to try something but if Dan were to get scared and jump or move his head too quickly, it would become a nightmare. To solve this he grabs a fistful of Dan’s hair and uses it to push back and force his head to stay in place on the floor. 

“Don’t fucking move,” he whispers, heart thrumming loudly in his chest. 

Already, he can see the way Dan widens his eyes in apprehension and fear. Phil momentarily forgets his scary persona by kissing the space just between Dan’s eyes before he picks up his weapon again. This time he uses the blade very lightly and with a steady hand, getting a feel for exactly how much pressure he can apply without consequence. 

The cold metal slides daintily across Dan’s neck and under his chin, and sometimes makes him cry out lowly although no real words could be made from the nonsense coming from his lips. 

“One wrong move and you’d be out like a light. L'appel du vide, yeah? Are you scared, sweetheart?" 

Even speaking aloud to answer Phil’s question feels dangerous, as the vibrations of his throat could cause something to move in the wrong way and injure him. Instead, Dan blinks two or three times and allows a few hot tears to fall down his rosy cheeks before they drip onto the linoleum. The scene looks like something from a movie. 

"You’re precious,” Phil sighs. 

He gives it another thirty seconds before dropping the knife onto the floor and sliding it over to the other side of the room. Then he crawls backwards until he can crouch down and take Dan’s cock into his mouth. The sudden attention to it makes Dan moan loudly, hitting his hands against the floor from the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. 

The blowjob only lasts close to five minutes before Dan is arching his back and whining, causing cum to spill over onto Phil’s chin and nearly making him choke on it from the sudden escalation. 

Without even thinking about cleaning themselves up, they both lazily collapse into each other’s arms on the kitchen floor, Dan’s labored breath the only sound in the room. 

They don’t talk about it right away. After a long period of rest, Phil had stood up and cleaned their mess and gathered his now sleeping lover into his arms to carry him (with some difficulty) into the bedroom. When he left and shut the door, the soft lull of Dan’s snores made his heart thump with the realization that he’s helplessly in love with this guy. 

After a quick shower and wank he took a nap on the couch, curled up with his laptop and videos of cute badgers playing on the screen. 

It’s at dinner that Dan feels the need to discuss the events of earlier, while his face is stuffed with cooked baby carrots and potatoes. He’s back in the pajamas from earlier and looks just as adorable as always, curled hair twisted in random ringlets around his forehead. 

They’ve both been relatively silent throughout the meal, but then Dan is propping his socked feet up into Phil’s lap and looking at him with the softest of expressions, rubbing his toes slowly against Phil’s thigh. 

“Thanks for, erm, this morning. Sorry if it made you uncomfortable." 

"I wasn’t uncomfortable, I just didn’t want to hurt you. Maybe we can do some research on it together and try again?” Phil smiles at him calmingly, and it causes Dan to let out a short laugh. 

“You liked it enough to do it again? I always knew you were a sick bastard," Dan teases, despite his own blush rising on his face. 

"You know me, Danny. Always ready to ‘try new things’." 

"I hate you, Phil Lester." 

"Love you too, my little masochist.”


End file.
